Qwerty vs. Prologue

[James]

Topic: Military Sci-Fi
Deadline: 9th January

Good luck!

[Prologue]

Honor for Shit
Prologue

The helmet looked more like a torture device than a highly advanced piece of armor meant to protect a soldier's head. The headgear had been found jammed into the mouth of a jaw crusher and caused all sorts of havoc at the Gunfa Quarry, which had been forced to shut down until the valuable machinery could be repaired. The operator had extracted the helmet and, upon seeing the seal of the U.S. Army, sent it to the only Army barracks on Dandu.

It wasn't the first time part or all of a battle suit had been recovered on the planet. In fact, it was becoming an all too common occurrence as of late. Dandu, situated on the outskirts of the populated planetary sectors, was an ideal location for U.S. Army turncoats and deserters. Decidedly bleak, the planet was a dry shell of deserts and deep canyons, all interconnected by an immense catacomb of undiscovered caverns and tunnel networks. Nearly uninhabitable, even for the native wildlife, Dandu's only commercial value was the mineral-rich deposits in the ravine walls. Or so they thought. For as Corporal __________ was quickly learning, Dandu (secluded, largely unexplored and riddled with hiding spots) was a paradise for traitors of the States.

Corporal ______ even suspected the existence of an entire society of criminals on the planet; and this was exactly why he had been stationed at the Gunfa Barracks, to sniff it out. He knew it was a hopeless gesture. His team was barely large enough to oversee the valuable quarry let alone embark on long and ultimately wasteful scouting missions into the unknown wilds. He was here because the U.S. Army was overburdened with a record number of enlisted soldiers and no conflict to spend them on.

He wasn't entirely disappointed by the task.

Corporal ______ was a man who lived to overcome the obstacles other men could not. Even so, he wasn't optimistic when one of his men entered his office holding the crushed helmet aloft. The office itself was an old storage facility used by the quarry before the Army had 'acquired' it. The place was threadbare with the exception of a rattling overhead fan and squat metal desk at which sat the slender and imposing Corporal _______, puffing away at a fat wood-tipped Cuban (Cuba no longer exported cigars, though the name stuck.)

“Take it to Hartley,” he spoke through clenched teeth, billowing smoke with every word. The excitement of finding abandoned military gear had long since fled Corporal ________, for every helmet they had ever found had been pointedly destroyed beyond repair, making the find useless for their purposes.

“Corporal, I think you should look at this.” The soldier, a newly appointed Private First Class, had always surprised Corporal _______ with his confidence. Even as a Private, Emille seemed immune to the stress and culture shock that his classmates suffered from, always maintaining a respectfully confident composure. Corporal ________ mused he had grown up in a strict military family: striving to stand out amongst his disciplined siblings; a hard-to-please father and a soft-spoken yet equally stern mother. “The I.D. Number is legible and the recording device hasn't been crushed.” Emille held the helmet out, pointing at the scratched yet readable number and almost unscathed recording compartment.

Corporal _________ smiled hungrily, the months of frustration and failure that had sat heavily on his shoulders suddenly lifting. He stood up, then sat back down. So overwhelmed in thought he couldn't manage words. “Corporal, I'll run the number in the system while Hartley tries to get the tape out.” Corporal _______ nodded and watched Emille file out as if he had given the order himself.

An hour later the entirety of the barracks was seated before a small monitor, eagerly waiting for the screen to jump to life. “This is our chance, Corporal. We can find where these pricks are hiding and nail 'em,” Emille remarked dryly to Corporal ________, his eyes never leaving the screen.

Hartley stood hunched over a confusing switchboard of knobs and buttons, trying to get the ancient machinery to work. “They stopped making systems like this over sixty years ago,” the Specialist said through intense, labored breaths, “Fucking piece of shit.”

“Were you able to get a read from the number?” Corporal _______ asked Emille, resisting the urge to take out his anxiety on the struggling Hartley.

“Yes, Corporal. Staff Sergeant Arnold Palms. He had been stationed on Suid for over fifteen years with a squad of nine men.”

Corporal _______ shook his head in anger and disappointment. “ A fucking Staff Sergeant. You'd think a man would learn loyalty after that many years in the service. Hartley! Get this fucking video started so I can see this piece of shit.” Hartley redoubled his efforts and the room quieted to a simmer. Corporal ______ held onto his seat with white knuckles, fuming with anticipation.

The video sparked to life a few moments later.

Gaunt face. Thick beard. Crusted lips. Pale, dirty skin. The picture wobbles unsteadily, as if the man is holding the helmet in his extended hands and filming himself. After a few moments of fidgeting the camera becomes still and the figure, one could only assume is Staff Sergeant Arnold Palms, backs away from the screen. He sits on a rock a few feet away from the camera, his back hunched, shoulders sunk forward. He doesn't look at the camera, and the gravity of his exhaustion seems palpable through the screen. He lifts his head and looks like he is going to speak, though a sound invisible to the camera grabs his attention. He stands and disappears behind the camera. Shuffling and murmured voices can be heard faintly through the monitor, and it is several minutes before he returns.

He doesn't hesitate this time before addressing the camera. “Video diary... Legacy... Whatever. Fuck it..” He allows a moment of silence before continuing. “It has been eleven days of no hope on Danfu. Thirty-something before that.” He looks at the camera as if expecting a response. “No, not hope of me getting out of this alive. There was never any hope of that....”

“Hope that I could get my men to safety. All of them. I've already failed seven times. Three times on Suid. Albert Donovan, Jessie Kiln, Calvin Maloney. Once on the trip here. Connie Flock. Three times in the last week. Ronald Vibbert. Howard Keel. Charlie Montgomery. All died honorable deaths, despite what the records may say. Give their families my regards and sincerest apologies.”

He allows his head to drop again and rubs his hands against his eyes as if warding off tears. “I allowed my men to be Red shirted* on Suid... I pushed them too hard, or I was too naive to see what was happening to them. I forgot what it was like to be a new soldier, and they suffered from my...” he chokes back a sniffle, “goddamn stupidity.

They would've been killed, or locked up, if I brought them back. I didn't know what to do... “ His head bobs back and forth, as if he is once again weighing the difficult decision in his head. Another sound off-camera distracts the Staff Sergeant, although this time it is audible to the camera. Coughing and choking, loud and forceful and painful like a man fighting for his last breaths. Thudding, like fists hitting the earth. Scratching, like boots frantically scraping underfoot. Arnold Palms jumps up and screams, “Dodson, no!” The Staff Sergeant jumps forward, off screen, knocking the helmet from its perch.

A few moments of blurry, dark colors like splotches of water color paint on a canvas. The camera eventually settles sideways on the sight of three men. A dark-skinned man wearing a battle suit bearing the U.S. emblem clearly on the shoulder sits on the stomach of another figure, his arms stiffened downward and his hands wrapped around the other's throat. He screams violently and thrashes the man beneath him like a doll, tearing the neck back and forth and pounding the back of the head into the ground. The Staff Sergeant charges and tackles the man to the ground, though he continues to fight with balled fists. “DO YOU KNOW WHAT I DID WITH THESE HANDS?” he screams at a voice-cracking crescendo, and the Staff Sergeants answers by snapping the man in the neck with his elbow. The figure falls limp, windpipe crushed, and Arnold Palms rolls away, heaving with restrained tears. He checks the pulse of the other man and when he pulls his hand back it is covered in blood.

The Staff Sergeant sits on his heels for several minutes, silent. Eventually he speaks, although he continues to face away from the camera. “I brought my men to Dandu so that they could live freely. I heard word on Suid of a colony... A home for people needing protection from the States. We've wandered in these tunnels for more than a month and found nothing. I don't think it exists...”

He glances back and forth between the two bodies. “We wouldn't have made it much longer anyway... Three more failures. Matthew L. Dodson. Brent. A. Wade. And...” The Staff Sergeant reaches down and a long, serrated knife appears in his hand. He doesn't say anything, doesn't hesitate, before ripping the blade across his throat. He gurgles uncontrollably and falls to the side, blood leaking from the hinge in his throat. He lay for a long time, unmoving. The camera keeps recording, like a spectator that has witnessed something awful but cannot look away.

“A hero...” Emille manages to cough despite the hard lump in his throat. “That man sacrificed everything for his men.”

Corporal _________ remains silent, his eyes fixed intently on the static screen. The room begins to recover slowly, talking in whispers and daring to move their taught muscles. Just as Hartley shuts off the monitor Corporal _______ launches out of his seat, voice trumpeting in anger, “That man sacrificed our time more than anything else!”

“But Corporal, you just heard that man say he gave up his own life to see his men to safety,” Emille presses, his disbelief at the Corporal's reaction written clearly in the disapproving arch of his brow.

“I would've rather heard him say where that colony is!”

“That video is worth-”

“Shit for all the good it will do us! Get it off the screen Hartley and get rid of it.”

Emille shook his head, unable to speak as Hartley did as he was bid and carried the video away to be destroyed. For some reason, he felt as if a bit of himself was being thrown away as well, worthless.

[Kaez]

Prologue
Spelling & Grammar - 5/5
Ease of Read - 4/5
Use of Topic - 9/10
Entertainment - 13/15
Quality - 13/15

44/50

I don't recall any spelling or grammatical mistakes at all, so there's a solid start. It read all-but-fluidly, and under my personal suggestion, if you want to leave the Colonel unnamed, call him 'the Colonel'. That keeps you from adding in the silly ______ which just doesn't help things very much.

The use of the topic was... well, -really- good. It wasn't the most innovative thing that's ever been written, but it was very solid and very well handled. It was a thoroughly entertaining story written quite well and everything from the dialogue to the descriptions were spot on. At first I was really excited about the idea to change the perspective from past tense to present tense for the sake of the videotape, which I thought was very cool, but then it continued a bit past the video making me think that it was a mistake on your part, not an intentional effect, so some points taken off for that.

But otherwise, I really think you'll be a dark horse in this tournament. I see you going to the final round or two.

EDIT: I iz do maths bad.

[James]

Prologue

Spelling & Grammar - 5/5
Ease of Read - 3/5
Use of Topic - 9/10
Entertainment - 12/15
Quality - 12/15

Total: 41/50

Very, very, very good, Prologue. I don’t recall having the pleasure of reading your writing before and this was a great piece to start with. I don’t remember seeing any mistakes in there, which is a good start.

I agree with Kaez though, the _________ got really annoying after a time, and not only annoying but also disrupted the flow a little bit. However I really got immersed in it and was interested where it was ending. The only two things that I would draw your attention to is:

Tense: As Pete said, it did flip a little.

Realism: Maybe it was me, but just towards the end I felt that the Corporal’s reaction was a bit over theatrical. That he wasn’t acting like that due to his personality, but due to the fact that you wanted a strong ending.

But great piece and you definitely deserve your spot in the next round.

Oh, and Pete can't count.

[Kaez]

Thankfully for my own pride, I realized I couldn't count upon reading your score, before seeing that last line of yours. Whew.

[Prologue]

Thanks for the compliments guys! I was a little hesitant about this piece because I've never written or read Sci-Fi before, so it was definitely a change of pace for me (which was nice, actually!). Even though it doesn't matter much, I'd like to explain some of my decisions:

- As far as the Corporal _______ goes, I wanted the entire piece to look like an official document in which the Corporal's name had been lost or scratched out. I ended up deciding to write it more like a narrative than a legal document and I just decided to stick with the name thing.

- The change from past to present tense was fully intentional. The reason I stuck with it even after the video stopped was because I didn't think it made much sense to do past to present to past, but I really wanted the video to be present tense so it was more personal for the reader. *shrug*

But thanks for the great reviews! I'll definitely consider my chooses more carefully for next time.